


500 Words or Less

by SingARoundelay



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, I just wanted them all in one place, M/M, One-Shots, Short Fics, but there's a couple of ouch ones, legit fluff!, most are actually fluffy, these are so not all connected
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-15 11:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13030086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingARoundelay/pseuds/SingARoundelay
Summary: A collection of drabbles, based on askbox prompts. [This was 300 words or less but as I started doing dialogue ones that were 500 words, we're putting this all in one place.] One drabble per chapter! This is an on-going series so feel free to jump in and out wherever!





	1. “You wanna go back to my place?”

**Author's Note:**

> There's an awesome askbox prompt on tumblr right now for 300 word (or less) short stories. As I got a ton of requests, I wanted to put these all in one place. Each chapter is a different 300 word story.There's no order and no continuity. I hope you enjoy! As always, comments and kudos are love.
> 
> Though don't be surprised if you see some of these incorporated into later fics...

The words pull him from his thoughts and he startles. It’s why he came to this club after all. Why he turned right instead of left when he exited the office (after calling his wife to say he’d be home late because it’s one of those days at the office.)

His body moves in time to the music, gyrating against the guy who has been his dance partner all night. They haven’t spoken much beyond a few well-placed groans and offering to keep plying the other with alcohol.

So when the question comes, Marvin falters ever so slightly in his movements. He came here for a release. To find a guy to get off with so he could go back to pretending like he was still straight with his wife and son waiting back home. It’s his once-every-six-weeks sojourn to the Village. Every time he’s come here it’s been a quick fuck in the back room of a club or playing around with a few guys in a bathhouse. No names, anonymous sex.

Just the way he likes it.

He doesn’t go back to someone’s apartment. Because that would make it—his homosexuality—real. In these dens of iniquity, it’s as if he’s another person. It’s an almost out of body experience. But to leave here, arm in arm with another man and enter his home. Well, that’s something else entirely. That’s admitting he wants and needs things he isn’t allowed to have.

And yet.

The words slip out of his mouth before he can grab them and shove them back down where they belong.

“I’d love to.”


	2. “I never meant for it to go this far”

His pants are around his ankles and with Whizzer draped over the back of the couch, it’s hard to tell where one man ends and the other begins. Marvin’s chin hovers just over Whizzer’s shoulder (thank god for the leaning thing — he hates being so much shorter than his lover) as he stares into his wife’s shocked face.

He pulls away from Whizzer abruptly, trying not to break eye contact with her and pull his pants up at the same time. Whizzer, the son of a bitch, lets out a soft chuckle. The situation is far from funny and Marvin wants to slap him.

“Thanks for a great time, babe,” Whizzer says, doing up his own trousers and giving Marvin a kiss on the cheek before sauntering out of the den as if Trina isn’t blocking his way.

She steps aside to let him pass, as if too stunned to stop him. Too shocked to make him stay. Too destroyed to ask who he even is.

“You know, I’ve always thought…” Trina’s voice is so soft it kills Marvin. He actually wants her angry. To shout and rage at him. It’d be easier than this calm before the storm. “I always told myself your late nights at the office were just that. Late nights. That the cologne I smelled on your shirts was from this or that co-worker because you worked in close proximity. But then it was more late nights and the same cologne.”

Marvin draws in a breath. “I never meant for it to go this far.”

Trina tilts her head to the side. “Somehow, I actually believe that. But you did. And now you can get out. This isn’t your home anymore.”


	3. “I wish you would talk to me.”

It’s been three months. Three months since his bravado got the better of him and he threw Whizzer out of the apartment in a fit of rage. Whizzer should have come to see him long before this, to apologize because he couldn’t live without Marvin. But that was an ending for a perfect world. One where everyone needed Marvin and eventually came to their senses.

Not the one where Trina dried her eyes and married his ex-shrink.

Not the one where Whizzer probably unpacked his suitcase at a new apartment without blinking an eye.

It isn’t that everyone leaves him: it’s that he pushes everyone away in the end. Too afraid of his own happiness that he has to do whatever he can to sabotage it. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy that he knows he’ll never be able to break. Or can he? What if he’s the one to admit he was wrong? What if he made the attempt to set things right. Would Whizzer take him back?

He locks his apartment before he can change his mind. Marvin navigates the maze of tunnels that is the New York subway system, hoping that Whizzer still maintains the studio apartment in the heart of the Village. It was the first place they used to go and fuck. Back when he hid himself from everyone, including Trina.

Marvin takes the stairs two at a time, winded by the time he reaches the fifth floor. Panting, Marvin raises his hand to knock—and hears voices from the inside. Whizzer’s rich laughter. Two other men. He doesn’t stop to contemplate it could be the TV. Instead, he lowers himself to the floor, using the door as a brace… and wraps himself in laughter that’s no longer his.


	4. “I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

“I think that’s the last of it?”

Marvin leans against the doorframe, arms crossed as he watches the last of Whizzer’s clothing get distributed to the chest of drawers. Earlier, he pretended to make a big show of moving his clothing around to ‘make room’ for Whizzer’s socks and underwear.

In truth, Marvin never spread his things out after he kicked Whizzer out. His guilt said he had to keep those holes in his life as the constant reminder of what he threw away so carelessly.

“What?” Marvin asks, lifting an eyebrow.

Whizzer saunters toward Marvin, an almost predatory gleam in his eye. He stops just in front of Marvin, tugging lightly on the red-knit tie he’s wearing. “Dear Marvin. The 1940s called. Even they admit this was a poor fashion choice and demand that anyone still wearing this forty years later should be arrested.”

He starts undoing the knot and Marvin doesn’t stop him. Instead, he lifts himself up onto his toes and presses his lips to Whizzer’s. The kiss is immediate and Marvin practically melts against his lover. No deceptions. No arguments. Just them.

“I have an idea,” Marvin says when the kiss finally breaks. “You get to throw out something you hate of mine if I can return the favor.”

Whizzer looks suspicious but, in the end, nods. “Well, since I figure I can’t say ‘your whole damn wardrobe’, I’ll pick the tie.” He narrows his eyes at Marvin. “If you pick my leather coat—”

Marvin pushes past Whizzer, picking up the suitcase on the bed. Whizzer takes a step back as if the suitcase still has the power to hurt when wielded by Marvin.

“I choose this.”

For the first time, in Marvin doesn’t know how long, Whizzer genuinely looks happy. And so is he.


	5. "Whizzer, Dad's gonna KILL me!!!"

Whizzer cracks open one eye to see Jason hovering over him, a panicked look on his young face. Practically immobilized from trying to fit his tall frame onto the too-small couch, Whizzer stretches his arms above his head. His sound his back produces makes him sound like he’s approximately five hundred years old. Whizzer swears under his breath.

“Hurry!”

This will teach him to a, not stay up until all hours of the night fooling around with Marvin and b, not sleep places that don’t fit his frame. Then again, if he hasn’t learned this lesson by now, it’s unlikely he’ll change anytime soon.

“I’m moving.” Whizzer pauses. “I’m moving right?”

“Da–Whizzer!” Jason tugs on Whizzer’s hand and yanks. Thrown off-balance, Whizzer rolls and topples to the floor, banging his head on the coffee table.

“What is so bad that you’d inflict bodily injury on me?” he asks, ignoring the little thrill that shoots through his stomach at Jason’s near slip. Funny. A year ago that would have made him bolt. Now it makes him stupidly happy. Whizzer grunts as he rises to his feet and follows his almost-son into the kitchen. “Did you break his decanter? Please say you did. That thing was ugly as—”

Whizzer breaks off abruptly as he stumbles into the kitchen to see Marvin holding a small box along with a bouquet of roses. He remembers the times he snottily asked for them and now, the gift of them unbidden is worth everything.

“This was a setup wasn’t it?” Whizzer says, arching a brow at his lover. Then, to Jason, “You little shit.”

As Marvin drops to one knee, Whizzer realizes it’s the second marriage proposal the boy has commandeered. Funny how this kid knew more of what his parents need than they did. Too smart for his own good.


	6. "I got the call last night."

Whizzer frowns at his watch, glancing between it and the door, utterly perplexed. The last time he was late for dinner, it resulted in a near four-hour fight/fuck session with him and Marvin. He wasn’t a fan of the former, but the latter he didn’t complain about. Much. Just once it would be nice to have sex not be precipitated by World War Seven between them.

The fact that Marvin is late drives him up a goddamned wall. Hypocritical much, Marvin? He’s composed exactly what he’s going to say in his head, prepared to launch into his diatribe the moment Marvin opens the door.

When the door finally swings inward and Whizzer catches sight of the expression on his lover’s face, his prepared speech vanishes into the ether.

“I got the call last night,” Marvin says, his voice choked. “I should have phoned you right after. But I just… I couldn’t.”

Whizzer is across the room in two strides, shutting the door behind Marvin and wrapping the smaller man up in his arms.

“You knew this day was coming,” he says into Marvin’s curls. “Hospice said it could be any day your dad would pass.”

“I know,” Marvin’s words are muffled by Whizzer’s shirt. If Whizzer feels dampness from tears, he doesn’t say anything about how silk shouldn’t get wet.

“You know you made the right choice,” Whizzer says after a long pause. “You didn’t owe your father anything. Not after he disowned you when he found out you divorced Trina and shacked up with me.”

He feels the motion of Marvin’s head move in a nod. “Even so… I didn’t want the last time I see him to be in a coffin.”

What can he say to that? Other than he understands how cruel families can be.


	7. "I'm okay." turning to "I'm not okay."

“I’m okay.”

“I’m doing as best as can be expected.”

“Yes, I’ll miss him too. He was a good man.”

Marvin runs a hand through his hair, varying his answer to the same goddamned question for what has to be the ten-thousandth time that day. Honest to god, no one who walks through a receiving line at a funeral actually mean what they say or ask. Questions about well-being are nothing but empty platitudes. It’s an extension of ‘how are you doing today’ from a sales clerk. There’s a set script everyone follows, the only derivations are variables of ‘not bad’ or 'doing well’.

No one ever asks and actually wants to know how you’re feeling. Just like those who offer comfort or say they’ll drop by to check on you at a funeral never do. They’re words to make the visitor feel better about themselves, not to actually make the grieving widower feel better.

By the end of the first hour, Marvin’s ready to set fire to the funeral home. By the end of the second hour, Marvin’s wishing he had the foresight to bring a flask.

At some point during the third hour, someone takes him by the elbow and leads him away from the receiving line and into an area designed for families. He glances at the woman, realizing then that it’s Trina with her smaller hand woven through his. She lifts her other hand, her touch gentle as it settles on his cheek.

Here is a woman he destroyed, comforting him at the funeral for the man who shattered their marriage. But there’s no hatred in her eyes. That had faded years ago. At last, he sees the woman he once did love.

Marvin draws in a shuddering breath at her unasked question.

“I’m not okay.”


	8. “I tried to surprise you, but I spilled your coffee on the way over…” -- Marvin POV

Marvin bounces on the balls of his toes, rubbing his hands to try and keep calm. It’s a big day – it’s the first time he’s actually planned a date with a guy. Not met in the back room at some seedy club for an anonymous fuck or fooled around with in a near orgy at a bathhouse.

An honest to god DATE.

He’s both excited and petrified, the emotions swirling in his stomach and he feels ready to puke. Yes, throwing up on some dude’s shoes is exactly the way to ensure sex will happen at the end of the night.

He always thought asking a guy out would be different. Like it’d have to be posed in a more ‘manly’ way. 'Hey, want to go get a beer somewhere and maybe fuck afterward?’ But, in the end, Marvin found it was no different than the first time he asked Trina out. The same butterflies, the same soft-spoken question… the same shy smile when Whizzer accepted.

Of course, that was four days ago and, as Marvin checks his watch for the thousandth time, Whizzer is three minutes late. Do gay men run late? Maybe he needs to adjust his watch and start showing up late places, too. He’s new to this whole world of homosexuality. Why didn’t he get a damn handbook when he came out? Someone needs to get on that.

At last, the doorbell rings and Marvin vaults over the couch to answer it before Whizzer can change his mind and leave. He flings open the door to see the guy standing there with a brown stain spreading across his abdomen and down his trousers. Marvin just stares at him.

Whizzer shrugs. “I tried to surprise you, but I spilled your coffee on the way over…”


	9. “I can’t sleep without you here…" -- Whizzer POV

To call the size of Whizzer's apartment a shoebox would have been generous. It's so small that he has to go outside to change his mind. The room is barely big enough for a twin bed and a sink -- the bathroom is down the hall and shared with four other guys on this floor. But it's a place he once called his own... not that he's spent a lot of time here in the last few months.

Walking into the tiny room, his suitcase in hand, it feels like it belongs to someone else.

Whizzer sets the suitcase down by the door, running his hands over the lapels of his leather coat. One minute they were playing chess, the next he was out on his ass. Apparently the price of making believe was pretending Marvin cared more about him than winning. How wrong he was.

He toes off his shoes and hangs his jacket on the bedpost, crawling into the tiny twin bed without undressing further. The mattress is lumpy and the springs squeak and groan with any movement, no matter how small. He tosses and turns, the bed screaming with protest each time he changes position.

Whizzer lies to himself. First, it's the light streaming in from the city that's keeping him awake. Then, his back to the window, there's a spring digging into his thigh. Whizzer doesn't want to admit the truth that, somewhere during the ten months (he finally admits it was ten) they were together, he became so used to having someone sleeping beside him.

Not someone. Marvin.

He misses the soft snore before his breathing evened out in sleep. He misses the way Marvin curled against him.

Funny how you could fall in love with a man and only realize it after you lost them.


	10. "I tried to surprise you, but I spilled your coffee in the way over." -- Marvin POV #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm doing three of these. Whoops. There WILL be a Whizzer POV.

Well, this is just fucking great.

Marvin stands in the middle of the crosswalk, scowling at the man who ran him over without a goddamned apology. Just wham, crash, and left Marvin holding a half-empty cup of Starbucks with the rest of the coffee dripping down his shirt and onto his pants.

It's not the fact that he feels third degree burns developing on his torso and upper thigh that has him in distress. It's not the fact that he's holding the remnants of an eight-dollar cup of coffee either. Side-bar: Marvin will never for the life of him understand how a cup of coffee can cost eight fucking dollars. Coffee is black and comes with cream and sugar and, at the local bodega costs no more than $1.85, thank you very much. But Whizzer likes his quad venti eight pumps of caramel almond milk latte and Marvin was planning on surprising his boyfriend with a cup before their lunch date.

Until said douchecanoe decided Marvin would look better wearing the drink.

No, the worst fact is -- Marvin's brand new suit purchased with his "holiday bonus" (as his boss had started to say Christmas but remembered Marvin was not Catholic) is ruined. He was looking forward to Whizzer's open-mouthed gape when he saw Marvin wearing something fashionable, too.

This was why he liked his comfortable khakis and plaid button-downs. Then he didn't care if someone spilled coffee all over him.

Soggy and smelling like caramel, Marvin gives a wave to the front desk guy, riding up to Whizzer's ad agency on the fortieth floor. Whizzer is waiting in the lobby, his expression a mixture of abject horror and amusement when he sees Marvin.

Marvin hands over the half-empty cup. "I tried to surprise you, but I spilled your coffee in the way over."


	11. “I can’t sleep without you here…" -- Marvin POV

The apartment is cold. Empty.

It's only felt like this one other time -- the night he threw Whizzer out. All because Marvin couldn't win a game. Or maybe it was because Whizzer didn't even try to learn it. Or maybe he was just a shit teacher. The memory of that night has faded over the years into something grainy and spotted, edited just enough for Marvin to paint himself in the worst light possible.

He still wears his guilt like a badge of honor. Even after they reconciled and made their peace, Marvin carried the guilt with him, tucked away in the deep recesses of his mind -- yet close enough to the forefront to ensure he never did something that fucking stupid again.

When Whizzer began to lose his fight with AIDS, Marvin stayed by his side. They both knew it was a losing battle and yet they still fought. Together. But in the end, Whizzer had to leave, no matter how Marvin begged or pleaded for him to stay.

Like the last time, he stays in the apartment. It no longer feels like home; it needs Whizzer's laughter and light and warmth to make it homey. Now it's simply a place he resides with ghosts hovering in every corner. But he cannot hold a ghost no matter how he tries.

Sleep rarely comes these days. He tucks a pillow at his back but it isn't the same as strong arms wrapping around him in the middle of the night or feeling lips trail along the curve of his ear. Before Marvin could find solace in sleep because he knew, somewhere, he and Whizzer still slept under the same sky.

Now, in the dead of night when he can't sleep, he's the only one who can see the stars.


	12. “I tried to surprise you, but I spilled your coffee on the way over” – Whizzer POV

Whizzer’s going to convince Marvin that coffee can actually have flavor if it’s the last fucking thing he does. If he has to see another one of those stupid, squat disposable coffee cups with the greek-looking designs on them he’s going to scream. Okay, so Starbucks isn’t for everyone – but in the city that doesn’t sleep there are a thousand other little hipster places Marvin could pick from if he doesn’t want to buy into corporate greed.

But bodega coffee is not coffee. It is black sludge.

Which is why Whizzer went out and bought a shiny espresso machine for their apartment. If Marvin likes his linguine, maybe he’ll like his coffee too.

Whizzer has the perfect fool-proof ruse: a stolen cup from their corner bodega to disguise the not-bodega coffee.

The scent of coffee fills the kitchen and the amount of foam is perfect. He snaps the lid on and, with a bounce in his step, carries his precious cargo downstairs. He and Marvin have had several coffee mishaps over the years and, in light of the care he’s taken to make this particular batch, he determined to transport it safely.

To Marvin’s building: check.

Up the elevator to Marvin’s floor: check.

Whizzer exits the elevator – and trips over a wet floor sign placed six inches too close to the sliding doors. He tumbles, coffee flying out of his hands. The cup somersaults end-over-end. It hits the floor, the lid pops off, and coffee spreads across the tile like a brown river.

Marvin steps out of his office just in time to witness the whole thing. “Let me guess. You were going to surprise me, but you spilled my coffee on the way over?”

In spite of himself, laying in a pool of coffee, all Whizzer can do is laugh.


	13. "Shhh... you're safe now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Trindel request!

Marvin has come and gone like the tornado he is these days. Trina clutches her cheek where she can still feel his handprint there even now. She's never seen him like this. For all his anger and all his issues and all their fights, he's never once raised a hand to her. She's never before felt afraid for her own safety... until now.

Deep down she knows this was a one-time thing and that Marvin would never raise a hand to her again. If he does, she'll make sure he never sees his son again. As she makes excuse-after-excuse for the man she once loved more than anything, she feels arms wrap around her from behind.

Trina closes her eyes and settles into the embrace, Mendel's whiskers tickling her cheek. Even though it's rough, his beard is a soothing balm on her abused skin. She rests her hands atop his, feeling him hold her a little tighter. In his arms, she knows she's safe.

It's not that she's afraid of Marvin. She isn't. At all. Because she knows him and knows deep down that this physical manifestation of harm is not like him. But she never realized he even had this in him either.

"Are you okay?" Mendel's voice startles her from her thoughts, and she turns her head to kiss him.

"I am. He didn't hurt me. I'm fine, really."

She does mean it. She tells herself again and again that Marvin will never hurt her again until she finally believes it. As she turns around in Mendel's arms, she traces her fingertips along his beard, then his lips. Her sweet Mendel who will only ever have eyes for her.

He smiles. "Shhh, you're safe now."

"I love you," she whispers against his lips.

"I love you, too."


	14. "You're not gonna cry, are you?"

Whizzer stands in the middle of the playground, clutching his backpack close to his chest. He was naive to think the other kids wouldn't notice his neon pink backpack. He'd planned on saying it was his sister's and he grabbed it by mistake if anyone said something -- but the kids didn't give him a chance.

They never did.

He hears the taunts and homophobic slurs thrown at him; words with meanings that should never be spoken by a child. Words he knows their parents taught them because bigotry can be learned at any age. He's thirteen-years-old but he feels like his five, being scolded by an adult for stealing a cookie before dinner.

Perhaps he thought his friends would be different. Perhaps he hoped his friends would accept him for who he is, even if he liked 'girly' colors and would rather kiss a boy than a girl. Perhaps he had too much faith in people as a whole.

Adults he could understand—mostly. They all assume he's too young to know what he wants and that he prefers his same sex. He knows they're wrong, but he has always swallowed down his arguments that he isn't a stupid child.

But kids.

Kids are the cruelest of all.

They fight with words; knowing his weaknesses and going for the jugular. He clutches the backpack all the tighter, fingers brushing the little rainbow flag he pinned there this morning. Hearing these words give them power and each insult lands harder than any punch ever could.

"You're not gonna cry, are you?" his best friend sneers.

Whizzer hardens his heart. He raises walls as protection from everyone and everything. He decides to never let anyone else in again.

The only person who will never hurt him is himself.


	15. "I wish I'd met you sooner."

These are Marvin's favorite moments; the ones where they're both tired and sated, wrapped up in each others' arms without a care in the world. He loves curling against Whizzer, feeling the larger man envelop his body with his own. It's been so different getting used to sleeping with a man. Aside from the very obvious anatomical differences, there's hard lines where he was always used to softer curves. The scent is completely different too.

He realizes then how much he prefers a spicy cologne over Trina's flowery perfume.

Marvin nuzzles his head against Whizzer's neck, nibbling lightly and licking at salty, sweaty skin. If he could bottle a moment and keep it forever, this would be the one he chose. It's the picture of contentment -- if only he could figure out how to express it in words.

He feels silly whenever he wants to express affection that isn't foreplay. Kisses are easy. So are caresses. It's words he struggles with. Because words and admissions like 'you're gorgeous' or 'I'm so lucky' or 'I love you' feel like they make him less of a man. It was easier saying them to Trina; but with Whizzer he's so afraid that he'll scare him off. That he's not being masculine enough. Or he's needy.

But how different his life would have been if he'd met Whizzer first? Would it have been easier to accept he was gay if he'd been exposed to Whizzer's effortless joie de vivre? Would he have still had a son? Would they have decided to adopt?

Or would his life have been exactly the same?

Marvin shifts, draping himself over Whizzer's nude form and the other man loosely wraps his arms around him. "What?" Whizzer asks, cocking his head to the side.

"I wish I'd met you sooner."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is totally a continuation of Chapter 5. Because Liv asked and I delivered.

The evening, in Marvin's estimation, couldn't have gone better. His son had played his part perfectly and Whizzer had been floored the moment he stepped into the kitchen. For as nervous as Marvin had been to pop the question, the butterflies had fizzled the moment Whizzer accepted.

He's put Jason to bed, kissing his son's forehead and praising him for all his help and encouragement.

Now, all he wants is to find his fiancé (that's gonna take some getting used to) and so they can have a quiet celebration of their own. So when he steps into the bathroom to see Whizzer sitting on the toilet with his head in his hands, the image of the perfect evening crumbles.

"Oh, god, Whizzer, why are you crying?"

Marvin blames himself, feeling all the years of guilt bubble to the surface. He thought they were ready for this step but did Whizzer only say yes because Jason was there? They'd had conversations about what they were going to do as they grew old together. That meant commitment, right? Or was 'husband' just one step too far for Whizzer?

He sinks to his knees in front of Whizzer, taking the man's hands in his own. "Babe, I'm sorry. We don't have to get married if you don't—"

"It's not that," Whizzer says, lifting his tear-stained face to look down at Marvin. "I want to marry you."

Marvin sits back on his heels, confused. "Why are you crying?"

Whizzer smiles through his tears, kissing Marvin's forehead. "Because your son almost called me 'dad' tonight. I've never wanted a kid... until Jason. But maybe... one day...?"

"Yes," Marvin replies without hesitation. A son or daughter of their own? Marvin is finally man enough to admit he needs this; a second chance. "A thousand times yes."


	17. "Who are you trying to convince here? Me or yourself?"

Marvin paces the floor, his hands clasped behind his back. Whizzer made his grand departure the moment Trina walked in and caught them in the den. Fucking coward. He’s the cause and the root of all of their problems and he just had to exit stage left before the proverbial fur started flying. Not that Marvin entirely blames him. If their positions were reversed, Marvin wouldn’t want to sit around while husband and wife tried to solve marital differences that could never be fixed. Not in a million years.

So he doesn’t blame Whizzer, even as he hates him in this moment.

“Well, say something. Anything?” Marvin looks to Trina then, hoping if she starts talking it’ll be easier. She can yell and scream and he’ll stand there and take whatever she has to say to him. Then he’ll find someone else to blame because god forbid he take responsibility for anything in his life.

“You know… I think I always knew,” Trina says, staring at her hands. “I don’t know how, but deep down. I knew I wasn’t yours.”

Marvin’s chest tightens. Her soft voice is more painful than he thought. He hates this quiet acceptance from her. Old instincts come out, the ones that demand he make this right. Whizzer isn’t here to distract him; to remind him of the passion and flair and things he craves. Whizzer represents what he needs — Trina, his obligations.

“How?” Marvin asks, the one-syllable word slipping out unbidden.

“How did I know you didn’t love me? Or how did I know you were a homosexual?”

Marvin purses his lips. “I do love you, Trina.” He says instead of answering. Because he does. Somehow. In some weird fucked up sort of way, he does love her.

She doesn’t reply. Marvin swallows, realizing she’s just handed himself a length of rope. It’s up to him to either save himself or hang himself with it. He’s not sure which one is the better option.

“I love you, Trina,” he says again, taking a step toward her as she backs up, keeping the same space between them. “I always have and I know I always will. This was a one-time thing with him. It’ll never happen again, I swear to you. It won’t. He and me. We’re done. He’s not what I need. You’re what I need. I’m going to make things right between us.” He’s pleading now, realizing how close he is to letting the family he so craves slip through his fingers.

Trina looks up at him then, wiping tears from her eyes. “Who are you trying to convince here?” Her voice is cold, “Me or yourself?”


	18. "I'm not letting you sleep on the floor. Get up here."

It’s uncharted territory: what the fuck is Marvin supposed to do when Jason comes to stay with him overnight for the first time when Jason doesn’t know his dad is gay? When Marvin originally moved out of the apartment he shared with Trina prior to their divorce, his first thought had been to get a two-bedroom apartment. One for him; one for Jason.

Trina never told Jason why they broke up and Marvin sure as hell wasn’t about to tell his son either. Not yet, anyway. If he wasn’t comfortable with his own sexuality and dealing with the fallout of his collapsed marriage, how was he supposed to tell his son? What if his son hated him? What if he lost Trina AND Jason? Nope. He wasn’t rocking that boat.

Usually when Jason wanted to spend the night, Marvin made sure Whizzer found somewhere else to sleep. He always tried not to think about Whizzer’s whereabouts and concentrated on Jason instead. But as the days and months clicked by and Whizzer stopped fucking around with other men, it was inevitable that Jason would figure it out. His luck, his son would have a nightmare, run into the room and catch him wrapped around Whizzer’s body while they slept.

Funny how it wouldn’t bother him as much if Jason walked in on him making out with a new girlfriend. God bless double standards.

“I’ll sleep on on the couch.”

Mavin put Jason to bed an hour ago and they can’t put off figuring out sleeping arrangements any longer. He presses two fingers to his temples and sighs. “You know Jason’s a light sleeper. You’ll wake him up.”

“Then, I’ll sleep on the floor,” Whizzer huffs, yanking on a blanket to pull it off the bed. “It’s either this or in bed.”

Marvin sighs and nods. “Thank you,” he says quietly, watching Whizzer create a make-shift cot on the floor. He tosses down a pillow, ignoring whatever Whizzer is grumbling. Probably something about Marvin needing to trust his son a bit more.

As Marvin crawls into bed, curling up on his side — he’s struck by how big and empty the bed feels without Whizzer pressed against him. He rolls toward Whizzer’s side, stretching out… doing anything he can to make sleep come.

“You know, some of us are trying to sleep here,” Whizzer hisses, clearly annoyed at the squeaking bed.

Marvin huffs, moving onto his back. “Fuck it. I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, get up here.”

Whizzer’s head peeks up over the side of the bed. “What about Jason?”

“Well, I guess if he has a nightmare and comes in here, there’s nothing I can do.”

Marvin swears he hears Whizzer mutter ‘finally’. The moment Whizzer slips beside him, his arms encircle Marvin’s body. Marvin nestles into the embrace, feeling Whizzer’s warmth and comfort. And when Jason comes in that night woken from a nightmare, he fits his body between Marvin’s and Whizzer’s without complaint or question.


	19. "Wow, I guess you really are that ticklish..."

“Trina what are you…”

“Shush.”

Mendel lays back in bed, unsure why his wife has shifted positions like she has: laying on her belly with her feet on his chest. If this is a clue for him to rub her feet, it’s quite possibly the worst angle possible. Still, Mendel is nothing but a dutiful husband – though one who does not have a kink for feet whatsoever – and he shifts, awkwardly pressing his thumb into the ball of her foot.

She lets out a giggle in response, toes twitching.

“No-no. Don’t do that. I’m ticklish.”

 _So why did you put your feet here if you’re ticklish?_ Mendel doesn’t ask, just stares at the bottom of her feet like they will hold all the answers. Nope. Nothing. He pokes at her heel instead and she lets out another of those sharp laughs.

Trina moves in the bed again, her feet close to his cheek now. She rubs the bottom of her foot against his beard. Okay… a liiiiittle weird, but love is about accepting all the weird quirks a person has. This is definitely a strange one, but he can get used to it. Actually, it’s kinda… sweet? Sorta? Never mind that, it’s Trina and she could swing from a chandelier and he’d still think the sun rose and set in her face.

“How do my hands make you giggle but my beard doesn’t?”

Mendel takes one of her feet back in his hand to give it a proper rub. He’s just reached her arch when her foot kicks out, hitting him square in the jaw, hard enough to see stars. He runs his tongue along his teeth, actually surprised all of them are still intact.

Trina looks back with a sheepish expression. “I told you I was ticklish…”


	20. "I'm pregnant." - Trina & Marvin

Somehow two little words manage to throw Marvin's world completely off its axis. He stares at Trina as if she has suddenly grown three heads, four arms, and started speaking some weird combination of Greek and Latin.

Pregnant.

The word tastes sour in his mind and he can't even bring himself to repeat the word aloud. 

Trina wrings her hands, staring at the floor. He knows he's supposed to say something. He's supposed to cheer and whoop and holler and be so fucking proud and thrilled he's about to become a dad. Yet all he can feel is dread. All he can feel is his partner's hands on his body from the night before. The litany of hundreds of faceless men who march through the kitchen, reminding him that he's standing in front of Trina, living a lie.

He looks at her belly, as flat as it was yesterday, and tries to imagine some little bean growing inside her. His child. Marvin takes a few steps toward his girlfriend, tentatively placing his fingers over her stomach. He knows he won't be able to feel anything moving in there, but it's... awe-inspiring as it's frightening. 

"I thought we were careful," Marvin manages to croak out, his hand shaking slightly.

"So did I," Trina admits. "I... I should probably get—"

"No," Marvin interrupts before she can say the a-word. No matter what, they got into this mess together and he's not going to leave her high and dry. He's an asshole, but he's not cruel. He draws in a deep breath, thinking of the double life he's led for so many years. Mornings with Trina; nights with strange men. Having sex with her because it was required in their relationship -- fucking men because he craved it. Needed it. Felt alive when pressed against a hard chest.

He sees all of that slipping away from him. This isn't just Trina's mistake -- it's his, too. One he'll have to live with because it isn't his unborn child's fault. And while Marvin knew he never wanted children, perhaps he's caught up in the idea of passing his genes along. Seeing his face reflected in his son's or daughter's. 

Letting them make choices he was never allowed to.

"Marry me," Marvin says, cupping Trina's face in his hands. 

She looks up at him and he can see this isn't what she wanted. No, that's not true. He knows she wants to marry him. Knows she wants a family -- they've talked about it briefly but Marvin has always changed the subject. Now there's no getting around it.

"I would have... rather this happened differently," Marvin continues. "But we're in this together. Marry me."

And when Trina kisses him, mouthing yes against his lips, Marvin feels the ghosts of the men he's obsessed over pressing down on him. He's suffocating, but he's made his choice.

With one last kiss to Trina's lips, he locks his closet door, hoping to keep his demons at bay forever.


End file.
